Diamond in the Rough
by palace scribe
Summary: This story focuses around my OC, Sonia, as she helps a few characters you might recognize to overthrow a particularly cruel Rogue... Set just after Wild Magic... the book not the series.


Disclaimer: I, the Palace Scribe, in no way, shape, or form, claim to own or plan to profit by the characters or stories which this fiction includes and is based on. I acknowledge that all of this belongs to Tamora Pierce. No lawsuits, please!

Chapter 1 : Introduction

"Sonia, His Majesty wishes your presence at the High Table tonight," read the note on her bedside table. Sonia cursed. "His Majesty" could go to blazes as far as she was concerned. She would most certainly not give him what he wanted, and she was one of few females who could say so. He would never hurt her because she was like a daughter to the owner and if he crossed the owner of the Dancing Dove, where would his headquarters be? Her fiery temper and 5'4" small but curvy body fascinated The Rogue, as did her long, chestnut hair and black eyes, but the most he could make her do was serve at table, for that was her job. She hated every fiber of his being and could only hope that he would soon be overthrown.

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A few hours later, Sonia emerged from her rooms, her face painted, and wearing a tightly laced dress with full skirts. She took the wine pitcher from the kitchens and, half entertaining thoughts of poison carried it to the High Table. When she had served, The Rogue himself grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his knee.

"You look beautiful tonight, Sonia. When are you going to join me and become Queen, huh?"

"Let go of me." She hissed.

"She's a spirited one," he announced to the table as she took her seat beside him, scowling. "But not to worry, she cannot deny me forever."

As if to show that she could, Sonia thrust out her chin and looked down, regally, upon the motley group of thieves and cut-throats who had gathered at their leader's table. She knew them all by name, and a worse group of rascals was never assembled. But, wait; there was a man she didn't know. Interesting, she thought. He must be a merchant of some kind; someone of interest to that damned ball of slime next to her.

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After the meal, Sonia excused herself while the men talked. As she turned into the hallway near her room, she was ambushed. A large man grabbed her from behind, clapping a hand over her mouth. In her ear, he hissed, "You don't seem to like it here, miss, but that's just as well. If you've any interest in helping to bring down His Majesty and earning some money, meet me tomorrow afternoon by the fortune-tellers hut. Don't look for me. I'll find you." And like that he was gone. She didn't even know who it had been.

After pondering for most of the night, Sonia decided around dawn that she would meet the mystery man outside of the deserted hut. What did she have to lose but her life?

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After she had served the noon meal, Sonia excused herself under the pretense of going shopping, and slipped out the back door.

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All the able-bodied of Chorus' lower district were otherwise employed during this hour, trying to earn their bread, and for this Sonia was grateful. The old woman's hut was deserted; only a lone, cloaked figure resided in the shadows. He hadn't seen her yet, Sonia was sure. It wasn't too late to turn back, but she needed the money… She sized up her potential employer. It was definitely a man… an abnormally tall man, surely over six feet tall; her captor from the evening before. She had seen too many guards and soldiers not to recognize the stance and muscle definition. Yes, he was certainly a soldier of some kind, but for whom? Sonia shook her head, clearing all such thoughts. First and foremost, she needed money… money to make a new life, and she was willing to do anything but the will of the Thief Lord to get it. Before she could change her mind, she stepped forward and called a greeting.

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Evin Larse pulled his cloak more tightly about him, even though the day was at its hottest, and checked the sun. She was late. To be expected, he told himself. She had probably risen late due to some rendezvous or another. She was a tavern girl after all. Then again, perhaps she wouldn't come. He pressed the thought from his mind. Suddenly, realizing his folly, he chided himself. Sure, she's beautiful, but what of it? She's a tavern girl and probably a common whore. You've wasted enough time with the likes of her to last you several lifetimes! Smiling, he finally acknowledged that this was precisely why he had chosen her. Old habits die hard, he told himself.

Then he saw her. The greeting he had meant to call stuck in his throat. The night before he had thought her beautiful, but today, dressed simply as she was in a plain wool kirtle, her chestnut hair loose in the autumn breeze, she was perfect. She moved with a kind of self-assured grace he'd never seen in another woman.

'Damn,' he thought. 'I'm in trouble.'


End file.
